Apologies, all around, for the lack of updates lately, aside from the brief hair-brushing (and hair-raising!!!) episode a couple days ago. I've been somewhat averse to sitting down and typing for a time, though I have twiddled around with some eddielives material- quick! go take a looksy-peeksy! Elsewise, I've been entertaining myself with some reading, namely j.d.'s raise high the roofbeams..., more of e.m. forster, and some william carlos williams poetry. I'm pretentious as hell, I'll have you know. And was out to the grocery tuesday afternoon when the call came from jason that he, april and judge mills lane were headed, presently, for athens in order to attend the lucksmiths show, and would I like to accompany and if so I should call the m&a household right quick. I shuffled around the house as the message played, fixed myself a sandwich, and wondered what to do about the fact that I can never remember, on account of never having memorized it, the number to the m&a household. I looked at the microwave clock. 2:oo. or thereabouts. I shrugged my shoulder, tossed my copy of raise high into my man-purse, along with a bottle of water, a journal and some bananas, and walked down to the bus. Bus to train, train to bus, bus to its most northeastern point, somewhere in gwinnet county, along I-85. On foot, past the "no pedestrians, bicycles, etc..." sign, almost to the second exit. 7 rides away from athens.
1. John- jock-ish type that, by all expectations, should have brought me straight to fratville, usa, but got a call while sitting in traffic and had to turn around somewhere around jimmy carter boulevard.
2. Michelle- midtwenties chainsmoker, sweet, army brat, sad a little bit. to lawrenceville, well on my way.
3. Tommy- outside the airport, effeminate deep south accent, beer in a paperbag between his legs. took me farther than he was going, made a u-turn somewhere near winder.
4. 2 hispanic boys in a hatchback. anachronistic arabic characters on the dashboard. and no, I wasn't mistaking arabs for mexicans- they talked to eachother in spanish.
5. someone else- the memory is the first to go- outside the kangaroo gas station.
6. jay. big pickup truck. talked alot. dropped me off at the loop, by home depot.
7. jay again, apparently heading into town, now with a delightfully pretty younglady in tow, with whom I'm sure he was having an extramarital affair. He was in a car now, hers presumably, and in the back seat with me was a copy of kahlil gilbran's the prophet. They left me at the 40-watt. After some wandering around, I found april and she brought me to where j and m were, along with a nice, fun newgirlI'venevermet named, and I will spell it phonetically, (lee AN uh). We all played pinball and talked and had a general funloving time as a&m detailed their forthcoming band project as well as the possibility of a revolutionary war-themed glamrock band, and we made our way over to the show, which consisted of our lucksmiths, ladybug transistor, and the masters of the hemisphere. we sat native american-style up front while the luckies played, stood outside trying to remember barenaked ladies and bluestraveler superfast lyrics during the ladybugs, went for a bite at little italy and then returned for the end of the masters' set, which I must say was quite entertaining. props for covering "born to run." thundercats, ho!
I tire. be right back.

I brushed my hair today. with a tool meant for brushing hair. raped my virgin hair. interesting results- fullbodied helmet style. crazy ass shit. went to the bookstore. read most of e.m. forster's "aspects of the novel." good. admired my hair. I think I'm gonna buy a brush.

We're back, boys! Thanks for holding out during our unexpected homelessness there. The machine stopped. It can all be explained in this brief description by my friend EM Forster. Okay, it's not all that brief, but it's a work of pure genius, and you really ought to read it. Notice the publish date. Holy...?

james- qu'ran's good. fun stuff. and, as you hinted at, somewhat familiar. been reading, with the Malcolm, some of Elijah Muhammed's stuff, and that's a little harder to swallow- white people as a result of genetic experiments, and such. I suppose no harder to swallow than much of what I've swallowed in sunday school snacktime. I've found that my preferred form of the qu'ran is, appropriately, aural. there are several good sites on the old worldwide where you can hear the entire thing recited by these amazing performers, sung, really, in the o.g. arabic. my favorite one is this one. click on sourat yussuf, if you're at all interested. let him warm up a little and prepare to be blown away. I like to listen to it while I'm at work on the old comp- God is speaking to me in a language I can't understand, but I love it. Like a mama talkin' to a baby. probly an acquired taste, I warn.
what else?

*"the prince" by machiavelli

*"man's search for meaning" viktor e. frankl

*"the art of happiness" the dalai lama

* the date my sister project at thespark.com

enjoy.
oh and james- franny and zooey is perhaps my favourite book ever, and if you don't love it like your very own mother you are an idiot.

Blogspot, the service that carries our lovely home on the worldwide, is currently in the midst of changing servers, kids. This process will take a short while, but be patient. Meanwhile, keep posting...

a simple miscommunication-
you said "reevaluation"
and I heard "revolution"
I always hear revolution.

input:

*"San Manuel Bueno, martir" by Unamuno

*"The death and life of Malcolm X" by Peter Goldman

*high fidelity, the movie. todd louiso is either the best actor of all time orhe's exactly like a handful of my friends,and either way I want to hang out with him alot. he can bring cusack along, if he wants.

*V-103. my alarm's set for 10:00, so every morning I wake up in time for the "inspirational vitamin." how much religion can one man get?

keep it up kids. ignore the byline. this is johny cassettes hacking into the mainframe.

elizabeth, you are the only one, I promise you.
and I can't wait to get you
and I can't wait to get you
but I can wait to get to know you better.

I'm creating , I swear. hold your horses. I'm a little hesitant to get into the details of the output from this end, but I'll let you in on some of the input:

*dismemberment plan, et. al, sunday evening. early, all ages show. the kids are alright. had some reservations about 'em, I'll admit... having to look at a pretty girl's hand to see if there's an "x," reconciling oneself to the fact that if there was a Limp Bizkit show going on at the same time, most of these kids would be there, watching out for the suburban mosh unit that seems to plant itself firmly in front of you every time... etc. but there was something sweet about the abandon, the undirected passion that they gave themselves in to. and, in the end, it made me smile. and divert my eyes away from the 15 yearold girls.

*catcher in the rye. in one sitting, for the first time in a couple years. a few gems I'd almost forgotten- when Holden dubs himself H. V. Caulfield- Holden "Vitamin" Caulfield, when, in his tyrade against automobiles, he insists that "a horse is at least human," when his ten-year-old kid sister corrects him on his quoting of the very robert burns poem from which salinger swipes his title.

*toastee peanut butter and crackers

*paradise lost- gutsy enough to spend the first few chapters making satan out as the hero. not that I'm like that or anything..

*corporate cola

*conversations between strangers on the train.

*a double feature and a half at the echo lounge: waiting for guffman and best in show, with a bit of spinal tap as an appetizer. some great moments, again almost forgotten: nigel's reply when told that the album title "smell the glove" is sexist: "what's wrong with being sexy?" Steve Stark undressing Corky with his eyes after the debut performance of "red white and blaine," everything Fred Willard says in "best in show," coupled with the beautiful responses of that british guy, especially when fred tells the proctologist joke, and he says "yes, I remember when you told that joke last year."

*avacado sandwhiches from fista's leftovers

*"the talmud and the internet," by jonathan rosen- listen, spent the day in the g-state library, found my way to the religion section, specifically judaica, and ran across this masterpeice. I'm not kidding. I can't stand the title- in fact, I just took it off the shelf to add to the pile on my table- I think I was going for that studious vibe, like that kid in magnolia at the library in the rain. I wanted people to pass by my table and think I was a child prodigy. I didn't end up opening any of the other books until I'd read the rosen from cover to proverbial cover. I can't stand the title because it couldn't possibly be appealing to anyone who isn't something of an internet aficionado, as well as a religious studies major, namely, myself, and this book needs to be read by everybody. this is my find of the month. intensely personal, lovingly written, informative, conversational, funny and tearjerking, everything you don't expect from either a religious work or computer shoptalk. if you ever take a recommendation from me, take this one.

and while we're in the library...

*"why I am not a christian" by bertrand russell.

*"the meaning of life" by the dalai lama (this one just skimmed so far)

*th Qu'ran (ditto,if "skimmed" is the right word, and not completely heretical, given that I shouldn't have been reading it in english in the first place)

*"after auschwitz" by richard rubenstein- I'll finish this one tomorrow.

back to the home front:

*the wb series finale and the season finale of, respectively, buffy the vampire slayer and angel. what the?

output will come. you'l love it, if it's anything like the product of teh juxtaposed input. or, at least, I will.

delivering a spanish haiku
smiling through a tear-shaped tattoo

topics I will write about soon include:

a) God bless the children
b) Fista- come back, all is forgiven
c) and congratulations
d) what's going on (Marvin Gaye, not 4nonblondes style)
e) riding the train all day
f) reading "Catcher in the Rye" and "Paradise Lost" compare and contrast
g) writing
h) the new and improved girl of my dreams, if my dreams were made of still photographs
i) the dismemberment plan/enon/gena rawlins band show

I haven't the time right now- all of the energy I have must be diverted elsewhere. But know that I have it- energy. Momentum. Heading back for the train, now.

epiphany: around midnight last night, fista and I were at our collective wit's end as to how to proceed with the recording of the gorgeous song. we weren't getting a good guitar sound with the fourtrack- tried going direct, then thru and amp, then miked the amp, then miiked the guitar itself, but nothing was satisfactory. then I had a little talk with invention. and while I was distracting him, old fista snuck around back and had sex with invention's mother. I'm talking about necessity. think of the children. think of the poets wailing in the streets if the new johny cassettes song doesn't pierce their ears with safetypins sometime soon. desperate times. the essence of all that is good, all that is cassettes records rises to the surface... and Mr. Lomax is talkin' bout deadlines...
location: the gentlemen's bathroom
technology: the human voice, the acoustical guitar, and the groovebox run through the peavey TNT 150 bass amp, all recorded by the RadioShack CTR-120 AC/battery Cassette Recorder.
method: 1) mounted the recorder to the shower door courtesy of the towel rod. 2) tucked the bass amp under the sink. 3) ran a cable out to the groovebox in the hall. 4) positioned myself, guitar in hand, on the commode. 5) positioned fista by the door, in the corner. 6) tuned on the bass amp. 7) pressed [record] on the silver tape recorder. 8) pressed [play] on the groovebox. 9) strummed. 10) sang. 11) fista sang some too.
results: astounding. The drum track from the groover gives something of an impression of casio-core, the guitar tone is light without being tinny, the vocals are clear (I gather the CTR-120 was developed chiefly to record the human voice), and has the cumulative feel of a spontaneous, heartfelt performance. which is what cassettes records is all about. Now, we may do a few more takes, in order that I might hit some of the notes better, but the overall sound, indeed the sound of young america, has been hinted at, and I couldn't be prouder. props to fisticuffs for taking part.

all the faulty hardware in my house. I may not be able to make a rock album out of it, but it sure makes the office look busy. seems the lunar module has expired, and my fourtrack's not doing much better. what delayed me most in recording, though, was my inability to find enough blank tape among all the strays that are now taking up a great deal of floorspace in my room. the hunt continues. mississippi is out of the picture for now. fista- come on over if you feel the urge to herbal. the revolution will be teleprompted.

Momentum. Let me say it again- no seriously, friends Romans countrymen- listen: momentum. Scrawl it in lipstick across your mirror. Rehearse it in your head like a ten digit phone number. Repeat after me: momentum. Again. And again, until each utterances loses its beginning, its end- momentumomentumomentumo... Make it a mantra- more than a memo, much more than a mission statement- this is the secret code to your encrypted existence and I'm giving it away. Take it. You're free. I'm whoring out my secrets to you. Momentum. Now, go.

james, I keep forgetting to tell you: you're a genius. fisticuffs let me listen to the telephone demo you did, and I'm digging it like a necropheliac. I prefer the one where the drums come in later, if my opinion counts for anything. and the casio/punkifier combo might be the greatest thing since peanut butter and chocolate.
played "gorgeous" for a small gathering of friends, namely(shoutout time) jason, millie and mr. hornbuckle. good reception, I think. then jason proceeded to fuck some shit up with the weedeater, all confetti style, and we played ROCK TRIVIA, circa 1984. I, by default, won, capturing the title of the ROCK GENERAL. and we thought up lots of great band names which sleep has erased from my mind. isn't that the way it goes?
this was all after returning from the creeper/gbv show. short: creeper lagoon was fantastic, but guided by voices lacked something. it might've been sobriety. it might've been dynamics. still, fine for a good chuckle, every time old bobby struck one of his "scott stapp/jagger with a belly" rock poses or cheerleader kicked mid-verse. historical. good company.
I'm presently at school(gorgeous state) cos I had to turn in some financial aid stuff, should get home soon to finish off the recording. if not today, then after this weekend. going to mississippi tomorrow afternoon to see the mammaw, maybe cousins. wish me rock.

oh, the old nine to five. the grind. the stone that does the grinding. my nose against it. cassettes records will be the death of me. today I programmed the entire groovebox track of a little nod-to-the-brill-building number called "gorgeous." you've probly heard it. I think fista is the only one who's heard it with the little piece of the shirelles' "will you love me tomorrow?" tacked onto the end. look for multitracked vocals(complete with "sha la la la's"), poorly strummed acoustical guitar and some tweeting electronical birds. in a living room near you. if mr. lomax has his way, I'll be laying down the vox tomorrow. as for tonite, there's the small matter of a guided by voices/creeper lagoon show at the variety. everyone else is going, so why not the cassettes? researching the rock. I promise you some product. words?

your makeup is smeared across your face. your hair has been tousled all over the place, and I could have sworn that you were gorgeous, but you're just not. you're just hot. you're just not. you're just not. you're just not g-g-gorgeous... no I'm not here against my will- only against my better judgement. I've got no innocence to kill, and I'm not putting up a fight. nor am I putting up my hands. but I have not given up my rights by giving in to your demands. and I wash my hands of this. I clear my head of all these thoughts. I made this bed- it's mine to sleep in. I should be sleeping, but I'm not. I cannot push you off my mind. I should have pushed you off myself, but I just could not seem to find the strength, the will, the force. I could have sworn that you were gorgeous but you're just not. you're just not. you're just not g-g-g-go ahead- do what you want to. what part of maybe don't you understand? give me some semblance of emotion to latch onto. no I don't love you- I'm just your lover on demand, and I wash my hands of this. I clear my head of all these thoughts. I made this bed, but it's not for sleeping. I don't mean to cheapen what we've got. but see, it's all I've got. (shirelles part) tonight with words unspoken, you'll say that I'm the only one. but will my heart be broken when the night meets the morning sun? I'd like to know that your love is a love I can be sure of. so tell me now, and I won't ask again: will you still love me tomorrow?

bring out the roll. jc.

older now. I think a good way to spend your birthday is to pine over a box full of old love letters in the closet of the bedroom-turned-guestroom of your parents' house in the suburbs, watch "drive me crazy" on pirate HBO, and run your new weed eater indoors. jason got a little carried away and shredded some of the creative loafing. He noted that it would be a good way to make confetti. who knew? um. 23 doesn't feel exactly like 22. I feel a surge of motivation. 23 is to 22 what 18 was to 17, I'm hoping. 5 year cycles. this is the year he gets it done. as soon as I can guarantee that my house will be empty for an extended period of time, I'll set the mic back up in the shower and learn how to sing. sing my heart. sing my heart out. I've got new strings on my guitar and banjo. I've been waking up before noon. I cooked today. and did yardwork. and this is happening. hold all my calls, mr. lomax. and bring me a sixpack of redrock from the Big Hootenanny. yesterday it was my birthday.

shit. I just erased the minutes from last night's fista&johny sessions. I'm not going into it again. frustrated. a brief summary, of a summary, as it were:
this is how I psyche myself up to produce a rock album:
vic chesnutts's "very friendly lighthouses" off of his latest, left to his own devices.
the kings of convenience "winning a battle, losing a war" off of quiet is the new loud, which, incidentally, I hereby nominate as album title of the year.
bennett "it's so true" from her breakthrough 1996 album So you're not coming over? I can't put into words how much I love this album. If I could, those words would be magical and sacred, never to be repeated by a mortal tongue. you would die if you heard or read those words. but it would be worth it, because you'd be transported to a heaven where the angels don't play harps, but distorted casio keyboards and drum machines and various marching band instruments.
this is how I produce a rock album:
fista fiddles with the fourtrack and remembers how to play the song he wrote. something about breathing, a little french number. when he has a handle on things, I come in with my newlystringed, tuned down banjo to play along. I set up a microphone in the shower of the gentlemen's bathroom. jason, I understand, is gone for the weekend. we settle on a rhythm, courtesy of vegas valentine's groovebox, after approximately an hour of pushing faders, turning knobs, hitting keys. the rhythm consists of 2 elements, namely, the kick drum and the ride. bu-bum, tiss. hungry. we go to la fonda on ponce. I get the veggie shishkabob thing, he gets the rice and beans, artichoke dip. good food, good atmosphere, good conversation. fista is just a major medical operation away from being my girlfriend. talk turns to lost love. lasts way too long, as we are being avoided by the waiter. hey fista, did we leave a tip? I forgot. get home, add some synth bass to the french number, make some attempts at as complimenting melody line. vanessa and the ice princess come home. concentration fails. besides, American High is coming on. Pablo is saying, "how can you lose love?" Oh, dear, sweet pablo. So much to learn, so much to earn. For another day.

I have a victorious secret. I've been combatting all day an image that, 5 minutes after uploading it onto this page, I decided didn't fit well. But it wouldn't leave. I tried everything. Then I said a soft, winsome prayer to the cantankerous faeries that inhabit the box palace, and before my eyes the offending image was wiped off of my screen as if it was never there. It is a good image- I like, it, it just didn't fit where I had it, wasn't aesthetically pleasing in that position. The "come join my quest" image was erased, also, don't know whether I'll put it back. Trying to come up with a look that will please me for more than a day. Suggestions are welcome. Love.

Anybody who likes things that are good should go to the Echo Lounge in Atlanta, GA on saturday the second of june, to see this band play. Seriously. Have I not told you? I'm trying to write up something about them, what they did when I saw them in march, how they did it, what my reaction was, why you should sell your grandmother to get to one of their shows, but I've not yet been able to make it not sound like I have a crush on all four of the band members. Still trying. But go. Run, don't walk. Ask me about them in some sort of oral communication and I will audibly drool while stressing and stretching the second syllable of every adjective I use: amay......zing, increh......dible, etc.!!! Exclamation points, as they say, galore. Have I convinced you yet? Tell me if I haven't, and I will hire a... one of those planes that writes the things in the air with like, smoke.
So yeah. And they are playing with a band that I haven't heard, I don't think. But I read lots of nice things about them on their site, and am looking forward to listening. And, upon visiting the echo's web page, I noticed that there are some other shows that I would like to go to in the near future, which include:
friday, may 18- vigilantes of love
sunday, may 20- the dismemberment plan
monday, may 21- back to back free screening of waiting for guffman and best in show. Hells yeah.
saturday, may 26- crooked fingers/azure ray.
Lots to do. Out.

alright then yes we're currently experiencing what one might call "technical difficulties," in that I've perhaps taken on more than I can chew. Cheers. and do forgive me if I allow them (meaning the technical difficulties)to continue for the time being as I'm rather interested in not being in front of the computer for the remainder of the evening. love you all. now where was I?

hello?

One more set of finals to go- monday morning. But I decided to reward myself prematurely for enduring the schoolweek from hell by spending last night and this morning/afternoon on the couch in front of the magic psychedelic window. These are my findings:

How badass is PBS on friday nights? I didn't tune in till around 10:00, but I was blind-sided by the ferocious one-two punch of American High and The Short List. From here on out, kaytee from AH will be referred to as "my girlfriend." No joke- if I were five years younger and attended highschool in suburban Chicago, I would do everything in my power to make her mine. We'd write cute crushsongs about eachother and go to poetry slams and seem pretentious to everyone but the two of us. My heart does especially impressive flippityflops whenever she giggles in between song lyrics. Cute as a button.

My roommates have between the two of them a rather extensive video library, most of which I've viewed liberally since we've lived together, but I always chose to bypass Jason's copy of A Few Good Mens, on account of the following issues:

1. The auspicious presence of the soundbite heard around the world, uttered by our friend Jay-Nic and repeated as the punchline to more mediocre latenight monologues than "where's the beef" and "I've fallen, and I can't get up" added, multiplied, logarithmicized together.

2. T. Cruise and his "I have unresolved issues with my father" acting skills, with very few exceptions, annoys the feces out of me.

3. Our girl Demetria ain't all that, contary to popular belief. More than a handful, boys. And that school-marm hairdo she's sporting in this courtroom drama doesn't do her any better.

4. It's a courtroom drama. Think Grisham in camoflauge.

But I lingered. I watched. And here are some of the things that made it one of the most pleasurable viewing experiences ever:

1. The aforementioned Nicholson catchphrase. Come on everybody, pull back your hair, bug out your eyes and show lots of teeth. And anticipate it from his first moment on the screen. Thenceforth, whenever anybody even slightly raises their voice, even if Jacko isn't even in the scene, deliver said phrase with all the passion you can muster and then laugh your ass off. The next girlfriend I have, if she won't participate in this game, she loses. Seriously. Check me out. An added bonus is the walkon presence of perhaps the catchphrase king's most obvious progeny, Cuba Gooding Jr. One is tempted, almost obligated, in his courtroom appearance, and indeed the inaugural Cruise/Gooding team-up(!), to wistfully imagine the following dialogue:

Cubes: What is it you want from me?
Tommy: I want you to show me the money.
Cubes: What? I can't hear you.
Tommy: I said show me the money.
Cubes: Louder!
Tommy: SHOW ME THE MONEY!!!
Cubes: YOU CAN"T HANDLE THE MONEY!

Classic.

2. Christopher Guest- Who knew?- crankin' it up to eleven as the prosecution's medical witness. A totally non-comedic performance, mind you, and in a Rob Reiner production, no less. How much of an inside joke must that have been? I was in tears.

3. The whole six degrees of kevin bacon thing. And then there's the Kieferfactor, to boot. Add a Baldwin brother and you'd have the makings of a masterpiece.

4. The laughable fact that the most "powerhouse performance" goes completely unmentioned on the packaging. I totally dig this kid.

5. The obviously nod-to-Capra endframe with "The End" in cursive across a sepia-toned courtroom. Schmaltz rock.

What can I say? I can't even judge whether it was a quality movie, there was so much else going on. I may never know the truth. I probly couldn't handle it. You totally knew I was gonna say that. Back to the books.

The pictures on the sidebar are links. You can probably figure this all out by yourselves, but...
Number one, the building, as I like to call it. It is called "home." All it does is refresh the page.
Number two, the building falling, is called, "once, in a blue disco," and will direct you to the archives when we have them. Right now, the page is programmed to archive after every 100 entries. After our hundredth entry, I will throw you all a pizza party. Until then, this button is rather useless.
Number three, the building falling some more, is our guestbook. Sign it, if you're not a person that writes on here, and it will make us happy. Even if you are a person that writes on here, it will make us happy.
Number four is where Johny spends some of his time, and since we have nothing else to link, but are in possession of this beautiful fourth picture of destruction, I decided to give it to him. Keep up the good work, boys! Billy, Cyber HOrse, where are you? good evening.

Props to all.
Fista- good to see it in print. The more I think about it in my fantasy, the more I'm hooked on the feeling that it ought to be accompanied by a banjo. Seriously, no kidding. Straight face. As soon as I'm allowed to I'm gonna play with some fourtracking and see how it sounds next to the peter gabriel-sounding groovebox interpretation, and I'll get back to you. I've been inspired by vic chesnutt's new album- James have you heard it? Done almost all by himself at home with some serious overdubbing. I think there are like 6 vic voices on every song, singing in unison for the most part, but wavering, cutting off, beginning at different times, with varying intensity. And it's genius. I think he channels cat stevens, neil young and nick cave all at once, and they're all struggling to be heard above each other. You, the universal you, should get it. Everyone.
Other things: was it a typo, James, or are you actually encouraging us all to "be god?" Rock on.

Beautiful, James. I want to rename this site "angela wearing headphones."
*****
So, it would seem that the affair is over. She always finishes before me, but I always use the excuse that it's because I'm taking extra time reviewing my work. I don't even see her leave this time, I am concentrating so hard. Something about exaggeration and hyperbole. She might have tried to catch my eye on the way out, I may never know. She graduates from Gorgeous State University, she graduates from me. Something about irony and satire. My pen cuts across the last lowercase "t" in the word frontera, next question, quick, I might be able to catch her before she's out of the building. Leave without saying goodbye? You left a note last time, fall semester, winter break, remember- incidentally I have it memorized: You want to watch "Buffy" together over the holidays?- then a number. She doesn't even like Buffy. Something about poetic justice. I kept that note folded into quarters in my back pocket for most of winter break, taking it out in secret, shaded in my palms, whispered out loud. Shouted out quiet. Written in pencil, it smudged and faded so that I could barely read it, but I had it memorized. It ran across the bottom of my mind like subtitles to whatever that other girl- what was her name?- whatever she was saying. We never watched Buffy. She doesn't even like Buffy. Something about symbolism. She made me lasagna, put the leftovers in a tupperware container for me to take home, but I forgot them. In her refrigerator. Something about realism. Forget it. I won't- I can't catch up with her. I'm not finished yet. She always finishes before me.

There is a guestbook, now, though I haven't yet put on a button for it. Write nice things. Be polite, but firm.

Manifesto!
Manifest destiny!
Density!
Monroe Doctrine and
the White Man's Burden and
the New Deal
all wrapped up in
a single sweet smelling product!

Jimmy C.- sad songs say so much. Nothing to kick yourself for. Though with your Smokey reference(I second...), I was attempting in my fantasy to hear it in the classic Motown vein, and had a difficult time. A short stroll to Hitsville, USA... Question: What the hell kinda genius was Berry Gordy, if only for his beautiful propaganda? The Sound of Young America! Who can get away with saying shit like that? Berry Gordy, that's who. But I'm gonna try it- I'm gonna start throwing it around. When somebody asks me what my band sounds like, instead of saying things like, "It sounds like what you would hear if you invited (Madman Across the Water era)Elton John and Gordon Gano to smoke a peace pipe on the banks of the mighty Big Creek, in the shadow of North Point Mall, if the only instruments they had were a Stevie Wonder fingertips-style chromatic harmonica, a funki-clav and a hammered dulcimer," I will just say, "It sounds like young America!" Because it does. I am Young America.

This should do for now. I'm trying to make it so this graphic doesn't look totally different on every browser. Fista, lyrical genius. I'd like to hear it. Is it to the same tune as the original, on the demo that johny has? "Good burns some"- I like that. Reminds me of my first wife. She was a real firecracker. Then she disappeared. No "grand finale," nothing. I should have known from our last kiss. It had "finale" written all over it, but nothing grand. It was the kind of kiss that I'd really wanted from her all along- none of this tongue-wrestling, uvula-boxing nonsense we fall under the spell of while in the throes of atheletic youth. Lips are for kissing. She must've figured it out in the end. Maybe that was why she left. She wanted more and I wanted less. Or was it he other way around?

First: Mr. Lomax, you are my cyberspace hero.
B.: millie doesn't want you to know how good she is at giving hugs.
And: James, thank you for the secret encouragement. You are a star. The world is your solar system.
All for now.